


how to be a king

by shadowdance



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Character Study, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Humor, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-08 02:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10376367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowdance/pseuds/shadowdance
Summary: (Keep one foot over the other and try to keep up.)Shiro tries to follow in his father's footsteps. Unfortunately for him, a king's tread is bigger than his.





	1. he must be strong

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks wow. but i love the father+child dynamics in-game, esp ryoma & shiro's let's go  
> despite the tags, ryoma doesn't actually appear in this chapter. he will be in all the other ones though and he's very very important. i promise

The clang of sword against sword rings through the training arena.

Shiro is not good with swords—not in the way his father is. But Ryoma is exceptionally skilled with a katana as King Sumeragi was, so he expects his son should be adept at it as well—that was the plan, anyways, before Shiro went off-course and picked up a naginata to spite his father and win. But it’s still a good idea to learn to use a sword; they are effective against axes for some weird science-law-thing, and Nohr—despite the peace treaty existing—has plenty of axe users. For future reference or something, that's what Ryoma said.

So he’s practicing with Hisame, who, arguably, has an advantage. Hisame is quicker and more calculating, clever and quiet; plus, he was practically using a sword since birth, but—Shiro’s stronger than him, that’s got to count against all of those disadvantages, right?

Yeah, no. Hisame has the blade pressed against Shiro’s throat within mere seconds.

“Unfair,” Shiro huffs, pushing himself away from Hisame. The younger boy shakes his head, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“No. We used our full strengths. I happened to come out superior.” If it were anyone else saying this, Shiro might’ve have punched them. But it’s Hisame, and Hisame doesn’t care about winning or losing in practice battles.

(Hisame only cares about _being left alone in silence_ and he never gets it, so no wonder he’s cranky all the time.)

“I know,” Shiro grumbles. Hisame offers a leftover vulnerary, but Shiro shakes his head—nothing’s hurt except his ego, as usual. “It just irks me sometimes.”

Hisame smiles and pushes his bangs out of his eyes. “Well, perhaps you should focus more on your weaknesses. Not a lot of people enjoy doing that, but it could help your case in winning. Strength is not the key factor in duels.”

Hisame always speaks like he's sixty instead of sixteen. Shiro sighs. “Maybe I will. Maybe it’ll help me become a better ruler.”

“So that’s what this is about.” Hisame’s fingers move quickly through his hair, as if he’s debating putting it up in a ponytail. “You think you’ll be an inadequate ruler?”

“Kinda. I mean—Dad is crazy strong, and I keep losing to you. Not that you’re not strong,” he adds quickly, when Hisame’s eyes narrow, “but you know—I mean, you know I’m-”

Hisame sighs. His hair tumbles down in an unruly fashion when he lets go of it. “I think you should practice your tact with _both_ your swordplay and your words. It’ll come in handy.”

Shiro glares and is in the process of preparing a retort (“And _who_ won that arm wrestling contest, huh?”) when Asugi’s voice cuts cleanly through the air: “Hey, Shiro!”

Shiro looks up, and in a blink Asugi is standing in front of him, a glare on his face; he doesn’t like Shiro or playing messenger, but his training _is_ for serving under Shiro in the future, and playing messenger is part of his job. None of this changes his totally shit attitude.

“Your father wants to see you,” Asugi says rather stiffly. “Pops said to pass the message along.” He scowls, and before Shiro can respond in equal manner, the ninja disappears. Hisame smirks and tosses Shiro the practice katana.

“Better get up there, _Prince_.”

“Shut up,” Shiro says, and prides himself in catching the handle easily.


	2. he must look the part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> worth noting every chapter is only 500-600 words, so they're not like super duper long. anyways here's this one!

“I’m back—Asugi said you had a request to see me?”

The moment those words leave Shiro’s mouth, his father appears before him. But his chin armor is gone, and for a second Shiro blinks because he doesn’t quite recognize the man in front of him. The whole armor is gone, actually—he’s wearing a hakata, the work so detailed and gorgeous it can only be Oboro’s work. Ryoma’s hair is also bundled in a respectable ponytail, no longer spiking up like Shiro’s; if anything, it looks straightened. His whole posture screams elegance. His face does not.

Shiro assumes he did something wrong to make his father angry, and doesn’t see a point in beating around the bush. “Okay Dad, what’d I screw up this time?”

Ryoma sighs and rubs his temples. “There’s a banquet today. I need you to be ready.” His eyes sweep over the layers of dust on Shiro’s clothes, the smeared dirt all over Shiro’s cheeks from falling too many times. “What happened today?”

Shiro subconsciously rakes his dirty fingers through his hair. “I was training,” he mumbles, not wanting to admit his defeat. Of course _he’s_ not surprised, but he wonders if his father would be.

“And you fell so many times?” Ryoma cocks an eyebrow. “You must look presentable for this dinner.”  
  
“Why? I don’t care, I know you don’t care.” It flies from Shiro’s mouth before he can stop it, and he slaps his hand over his mouth immediately. Ryoma’s patience has extended since the war, though, so he doesn’t get as angry as Shiro expected him to. But his voice _does_ take on a harder edge, almost as sharp as the Raijinto, and Shiro doesn’t miss it.

“I do care, Shiro. It is a very important banquet in front of many guests. We must represent our country well as respectable rulers, and I can’t have my own son not look the part.”  
  
Shiro groans. “Dad, I didn’t even know I was the heir ‘til the war was nearly over.”  _Who's fault was that?_ He wants to add on, but under the circumstances, it's probably not the best thing to do.

Ryoma frowns. His eyes are dark, but for a second Shiro swears he could see lightning crackling in them—unmasked anger. But Shiro just sighs and throws up his hands. “I’m going, I’m going. Do you want me to put on those robes, or-”

The lines on Ryoma’s face ease up, but only slightly. “I would have preferred for you to take a bath, but since we are short on time-”

“Okay, got it.” Shiro bolts towards his room without asking anything else—although, in retrospect, he realizes he should’ve asked _where_ his clothes are. So it’s only pure luck that they so happen to be in his room, laid neatly on his bed. It’s very pretty and feels soft, but all it does is make Shiro tired, and then upset. His hands grip the robes harder than necessary, the fabric bulging through his fingers.

Of all the people to be his father, of _course_ it had to be the king of Hoshido. It was a lot better not knowing he had such a heavy weight to carry. Shiro’s strong, but he doesn’t think he’s that strong. And now he has to put on stupid robes for a stupid banquet. It’s ridiculous.

“Shiro?” Shiro tenses when he hears his father’s voice. “Are you-”

“Almost!”

“Hurry up.” Ryoma’s voice is sharp and firm; this is a command. Shiro scowls at the door, and just out of spite, takes his sweet time pulling on the outfit.

Stupid banquet. He can’t even get dressed in peace.


	3. he must be respectful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, an update, this quick? scandalous  
> idk if i should tag something bc there's some Nohrian prejudice, so let me know if i should!

Shiro really, really hates guests.

That sounds bad—he just really hates how he has to be _careful_. The guests are all feudal lords and allies, and if Shiro accidentally says something to piss them off they could lose certain alliances and have a civil war on their hands. And that’s not good, is it?  
  
No. Of course not.

So Shiro endures through the dinner. He stuffs more food in his face than he should, but at least it keeps him quiet while his father converses. He’s _supposed_ to have his retainer with him, but he’s fairly certain Asugi stole some sweets and left, leaving him all alone.

So he sits there, zoning out to the voices around him when he hears _one_ thing that catches his attention: “I truly cannot believe one of our top knights is Nohrian. She’s probably communicating with them, spilling our secrets and preparing for war.”

Shiro stiffens, and his eyes roam for the voice’s owner. It’s an oily man with a nasty grin on his face, and Shiro hates him on the spot. Clouded with anger, he snaps, “That’s not true.”

The man wheels around to face Shiro, and if he’s surprised that the speaker is the prince of Hoshido, he doesn’t show it. “Ah, Prince Shiro,” he says casually. “You are acquainted with the cowardly _Nohrian_ , correct?”

“I do know Sophie,” Shiro says icily, “and she’s not a traitor. Nor is she a coward, unlike you, who just hides behind big talk!”

His voice is very loud, he realizes too late. And before the man can reply, Ryoma’s voice cuts in smoothly: “Shiro!”

Shiro shrinks under his gaze. The man smirks as Ryoma glides towards them, ever the presence of calmness. When he reaches them, his eyes dart to Shiro, and then he says, “My apologies, but my retainers have requested to see us in the hallway. Please excuse us.”

(That’s code for _Shiro, why the fuck did you say that.)_

“You did _not_ hear the things he was saying,” Shiro seethes when they’re out of the banquet hall, his hands balled into fists. Ryoma only watches with a bemused expression. “He was saying bad things about Sophie and—shit, do you think he said anything about Dwyer, too?”

“Shiro.”

“If he said anything about Dwyer _and_ Sophie, I’ll kill him right there, what an _ass_ -”

“Shiro!” Ryoma clamps his hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “Lord Yamamoto is arrogant but cowardly—not worth your time. I would advise not to antagonize him further.”

“But he said-”

Ryoma’s eyes bore into Shiro’s, and Shiro feels his words die in his throat. His father shakes his head and says quietly, “Do you know the things he’s said about Silas?”

Ryoma really trusts Silas, Shiro knows. He did not know Silas faced the same remarks, and feels foolish at the thought— _of course_ Silas heard them,  he’s Sophie’s _father_. “Oh.”  
  
“I know it’s tempting to put Lord Yamamoto in his place,” Ryoma says calmly, “but that’s not the best way to handle it right now. My advice is just to say, ‘That’s nice, but with due respect, I disagree.’”

“Wouldn’t that make him, I dunno, more curious?”

“If you make your tone sharp, he’ll know to drop it.” Ryoma still remains incredibly collected, and slowly Shiro feels his anger ebb away. “Let’s not make them wait too long. And,” he adds, a small smile breaking his cool exterior, “if it makes you feel better, I defeated Lord Yamamoto in a duel easily.”

It doesn’t, but Shiro just smiles and says, “Okay.”

Heads held high, they go back in.


	4. he must be clever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> important notice: i'm doing camp nanowrimo this april, so updates may lag a bit. i have the rest of this in stock, albeit severely unedited, so it's a matter of editing and then posting (which i hope i can do quickly).  
> also the banquet ended so no more chapters will revolve around that. that's all i think, but i'm drawing a blank on something.

“Faceless have infiltrated past the border,” Asugi reports, calm and cool the way his father taught him. Saizo stands next to him, taking in the scene without blinking. When Shiro accidentally makes eye contact, he resists the urge to shudder.

Ryoma remains silent, still as a statue. He processes this information, and then says, “Thank you for your report, Asugi. Shiro and I will discuss how to fix this. You are dismissed.”

Asugi bows, and his eyes connect with Shiro’s briefly. Disdain flashes in his expression, but before Shiro can make a bitter expression back, Asugi melts into nothing. Saizo stares meaningfully at Ryoma, and Ryoma nods at him. Saizo glances briefly at Shiro; his eye is the same color as Asugi’s, but there is no flash of hate. Then he disappears, and Shiro relaxes.

Ryoma sighs and presses two fingers against his forehead. “Shiro, what do you suppose the problem is?”  
  
He’s been doing this a lot—springing little problems on Shiro, expecting his son to attack them wisely. But the words _attack_ and _wisely_ don’t go together, not with Shiro. Still, he tries. “Um…Faceless keep crossing the border. Faceless are Nohrian creations, right?”  
  
Ryoma nods. “Good,” he says, and Shiro feels a tiny weight lift from his shoulders. “We’ve never quite replicated those kind of monsters.”

“So we should march to Nohr and demand to ask why they’re letting Faceless in Hoshido again-”

“ _No_.” Ryoma’s voice becomes sharp with refusal, and Shiro falls silent. “We have a treaty with Nohr. Accusing them of creating their monsters would deeply insult them.”

Shiro ponders this in his head, and then says, “That’s what Lord Yamamoto would’ve suggested we do, huh.”

Ryoma shrugs. “I don’t care to know how that man’s mind works.”

In other words, yes. Shiro swallows, feeling a sharp stab of guilt in his chest—the way he said it, it sounds like he only cares about his Nohrian friends, not Nohr itself. Well, that’s a little hypocritical.

“Maybe we should alert Nohr, then?” Shiro tries again, changing his tactics. “Dwyer told me ‘bout this forest in Nohr…I think he said his dad went there once. It’s full of wild Faceless, maybe it’s them…”

“You’re probably right about that,” Ryoma replies, his tone fairly neutral, “but that still might seem insulting to the Nohrians.”

“I don’t see-”

“King Leo is very similar to your uncle Takumi. Telling him Faceless are overrunning Hoshido again might be seen as a flaw in his kingdom—and it might appear to him we’re antagonizing him with it.”

Shiro shifts awkwardly. “Oh.”

Ryoma shrugs. “It’s a tricky position. I’ll discuss with Yukimura and see what we should do. In the meantime, we’ll take out the Faceless infiltrating the border.”

“Yukimura’ll definitely know what to do,” Shiro agrees quietly. He doesn’t like these problems, ones that have to be smoothened over with words. Shiro has never been anything but blunt with his words, and he’s quickly finding out that doesn’t quite work. Politics is like chess, he’s figuring out, and that’s not in his favor.

(He always loses to Dwyer in chess. _That_ certainly says something.)


	5. he must be confident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're going places! two more left after this...wow  
> i totally meant to rewrite this chapter bc shiro is the Definition of confident, but i'm sorta short on time nowadays so here it is, apologies if it's ooc!

Shiro is confident in his abilities—sometimes _too_ confident, his friends often point out. Trailing his father around has certainly diminished some of that confidence, for better or for worse.

Katana practices with Hisame remain relatively the same. Despite Hisame’s advice, Shiro tends to forget about it—or just plain ignores it. Which results in himself getting battered and bruised over and over again; but at least his father never sees this, Shiro tells himself repeatedly, as he brushes dirt from his clothes.

Until he does, and Shiro almost drops the katana when he sees Ryoma come towards the training grounds. Thank the gods he’s alone—Shiro knows he would be so ashamed if Saizo and Kagero were there.

Hisame lowers his katana and glances at Shiro quizzically, who only shrugs. “Dad, whatcha doing here?” he asks, and his father merely smiles at him.

“I wanted to see you practice,” he answers, and Shiro’s heartbeat leaps in his throat. Across from him, Hisame’s features blank in shock. “You have been training for awhile, haven’t you? I assume you have gotten much better.”

Shiro coughs. “Um—well—yeah, but—”

“Yes,” Hisame cuts in effortlessly, and Shiro glances at him; his expression is, of course, back in neutrality. “Shiro has gotten better every time we practice.”  
  
Sometimes Shiro thinks Hisame would be more fit to be a ruler, as Ryoma appraises the samurai with an interested expression. He feels a sharp stab of jealousy, but quickly pushes it away. “Would you like to see us fight?”

Ryoma’s eyes sweep back to his son. “I’d like to duel you first, Shiro.”

Oh. _Oh_. Shiro feels a weight drop from his stomach to his gut. His eyes connect with Hisame’s, who only shrugs helplessly. Ryoma, however, is picking up a practice katana, not taking no for an answer.

This isn’t going to go well at _all_.

“Come at me,” Ryoma dares, and there’s a small smile on his face that makes Shiro’s heart hurt. But he really has no choice, does he? So he picks up the sword, braces himself, and then charges.

_You can do this_ , he tells himself. He’s improved (a little bit). He’s watched his father in battle, seen his weak points (are there any, though?). He knows how to fight, he knows—

The sword flies from his hand, and Shiro finds himself on the ground, weaponless, as Ryoma points the blade at his face. Not that Shiro cares, but Ryoma's small smile is gone now, replaced with—disappointment?

“That was too easy,” Ryoma says, and Shiro flinches. “You were not confident, were you?”

Shiro scrambles to his feet. “No-”

“Your immediate thought was that I was going to win,” Ryoma continues, and Shiro falls silent. “That prevented you from giving it your all. I know you’re stronger than this, Shiro. A soldier in battle must have confidence.”

“I am confident,” Shiro mumbles, not loud enough for his father to hear. _Just not confident with you_.

“Then show me.” Ryoma gives him a flat look before walking out of the arena. The moment he does, Hisame lets out a breath. His eyes connect with Shiro’s.  
  
“It could’ve gone worse,” he says apologetically—kindly, even, which is rare coming from him. Shiro makes a face at him.

His father practically decimated Shiro, told him to become more confident—which, hello, is Shiro’s area of expertise—and left with disappointment. Disappointing Ryoma is not something anyone would like to do.

It could’ve gone worse his _ass_.


	6. he must be experienced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit there's one more chapter to go...  
> anyways. this is sort of edited?? the last few chapters have been bothering me but they're technically edited so here's this one!

And that’s all it boils down to.

Shiro lies in his bed wide-awake, his mind racing. He knows his father grew up in the royal court, knows his father was dependent on Sumeragi until _he_ became independent; this is what Ryoma is trying to do with Shiro, but he's a little too late. Shiro knows independency, but doesn't have the years of training and he’d never gain those years back. (A result of the Deeprealms, thanks a bunch.)

He knows his father was just trying to protect him when he didn’t tell Shiro he was the King of Hoshido, but it ended up hurting Shiro more than helping him. Because Shiro never prepared himself to be king, never took the precautions and was all ready to throw his life away in stupid fights while exploring and-

_Explore_.

Shiro throws off his covers and scowls. His initial plan was to explore the world, see the sights he’d never seen; he’d been dying to go through mountains and come in contact with the tribes and villages scattered throughout Hoshido. He never made it past a desert, though. Inexplicably, his royal calling drew him back in.

Shiro taps his fingers against his bed post, thinking. It sounds selfish, yes, but he needs to _get out_ of the castle. He doesn’t belong, not yet. He doesn’t know right from wrong, and the only way to know is to learn through knowledge. And the plan—before he was Shiro, Prince of Hoshido, Son of King Ryoma, Heir to the Hoshidan Throne—was to gain that experience. Maybe not the experience he needs _now_ , but still.

It’s worth a try.

He should technically wait until morning, but Shiro is impatient, so he drags himself out of bed. The hallways are empty and silent, but a candle in Ryoma’s room is still flickering; Shiro can tell when he creeps nearby and sees shadows stretch in corners. He swallows, and then steps in the doorway, where Ryoma is silently reading over a worn piece of paper. He looks up at his son, and Shiro smiles faintly.

“Uh…hey.”

“Shiro,” Ryoma says, his voice laced with disapproval and fatigue, “it is late. You should be in bed.”

“Dad, I’m not a _child_.” The last word is delivered with too much force, and Shiro winces. He sees his father wince as well. “I need to get out of here.”

Ryoma’s eyes narrow. “I don’t follow.”

Shiro sits opposite of his father, awkwardly folding his limbs together. “I’m not strong enough,” he says, ticking his fingers. “I’m not clever enough, I’m not respectful, and I have little experience. You’ve tried giving me some, but it’s not working.”

“And your preposition,” Ryoma says flatly, “is to leave.”

Shiro nods. The rest of his words clog up in his throat. Ryoma merely sighs, glances at the cobwebs of shadows. “Shiro, it’s late. We’ll discuss this tomorrow-”

“My mind will not _change_ tomorrow,” Shiro interrupts. “And I’ll be the same tomorrow, and I’ll make stupid mistakes over and over. Let me go, and I won’t. I’ll be better, I’ll know what I need to do based on what I learn. If I stay here, I won’t learn anything.”

Ryoma frowns, absorbing Shiro’s words. “We’ll discuss this _later_ ,” he says, but his voice is less sharp, more defeated. His shoulders slump, and his eyes go weary, and this is how Shiro knows he’s won.

“Okay,” he murmurs softly, and stands up to go. His small victory feels bittersweet, and he can’t quite look at his father, with those sad eyes and weary body.

The candle snuffs out. Shiro goes back to bed.


	7. he must be loving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am So Unhappy w this ending ngl but it's good enough for me to post so…that's something?  
> it's officially over!! im sad and happy at the same time haha (btw this is the longest one, it's almost 700 words…scandalous)

“Why are you so insistent on doing this?” Ryoma leans against the doorway, arms folded, eyes dark. He’s asked this about fifty times, and Shiro is getting tired of answering it. But he does anyways, packing while he does so.

“Because I need to learn.” Shiro hesitates, wondering if he should bring his naginata along. It might come handy, so he props it against the table. “It’s important to me. If you don’t like it, why don’t you stop me?”

Ryoma closes his eyes tightly, and when he reopens them, his voice crackles with frustration. “Because you want to learn. So you will. But I don’t want you to learn about the world this way.”

Shiro is holding an extra set of clothes in his hand. His hands involuntarily make a fist, causing the fabric to twist and wilt under his grip, and a burst of anger rises up. For once, he's too tired to push it down. “How’d you want me to learn about it? Did you even want me to learn about the world, considering you decided to just lock me away?”

Ryoma’s eyes widen in shock. “Shiro!”

“What, Dad?” Shiro narrows his eyes, and before he knows it, every word he’s kept stashed down comes out in a wave of anger. “You kept me away in a Deeprealm, and you never told me _anything_ —what you were doing, when I could come out, if you remembered me. You never even said you loved me when you came. You just said, ‘I’ll see you later, Shiro,’ and that was _it_.”

“Shiro,” Ryoma repeats slowly, but there's recognition dawning in his eyes now, “I just wanted-”

“I don’t care now,” Shiro interrupts. “I don’t, but back then I did, and for some reason I still loved you. Isn’t a so-called king supposed to be loving, especially to his kids? _I_ sure as hell didn’t feel loved.”

The last words have more of an impact than he means to. Ryoma falls silent, and Shiro flushes bright red, but he doesn’t apologize. No, Ryoma deserves to know how he felt.

“If I have a kid, I’m never putting it in a Deeprealm,” Shiro says quietly. “I’d raise it to be a king, so he won’t make a terrible heir like me.”

“You are not-”

“I’m not as good as you.”

Dead silence. Shiro turns away, back to his packing; his heart feels strangely lighter, and after a second, he ties up the food and the vulneraries, reaching for his naginata.

“Shiro,” Ryoma says, and his voice sounds exhausted; Shiro spares one glance at him before turning away again. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry for what—the Deeprealms, or for setting high standards? Shiro decides on both and puts the pack on his shoulders. The weight is very, very light, and he strides towards the door, feeling Ryoma’s eyes burn in his back. But what can he say—I love you, I’m sorry, I’ll be okay seem moot at this point, and Shiro doesn’t want to think about it.

But then his father is talking again. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Shiro,” he says, and there’s a hint of a smile tugging on his mouth. “I can already tell you will be a great king.”

“How so?” It slips out unintentionally, but it brings the smile to Ryoma’s face. It’s nice, and he looks less stressed when he smiles.

“Your heart,” he says, and taps his chest. “You still loved me when I was an awful parent. A good king will always love his people, no matter how bad the turmoil is.”

Shiro’s eyes slide down to the ground, feeling heat rush up his neck. Ryoma isn’t wrong, and the fact he might be doing something _right_ , well—it puts a new energy in his step. He looks up and meets his father’s eye, nodding slowly before turning to leave.

“See you later, Dad,” he says, and the corner of his mouth slopes up in a grin.


End file.
